Category: Thoughts on objects (Page 3 of 5)

The bass is pushing your eardrums. The sounds infiltrate your brain. You start to move. Who taught you to do this? Is it just a sheer force from within, making your muscles move uncontrollably? Will you be caught in this movement as long as the song plays? I cannot tell you if this is the result of socialisation, of your environment. But to be honest, if you do it right, you won´t care anyway. So just keep going. The most important thing is that you don´t lose balance. But how, you may ask me. There is just too much movement around me, everything and everyone is moving! Well, to be honest, just grab that glass. I don´t know if it will help you or not, it might even bring you to fall. But that´s the only advice I can give you.

Hold onto it.

Waking from any night is a hard thing to do. It might be slightly easier some days than it is on others. But doing that initial movement, opening your eyes, realizing that another day has started, is always a hard thing to do. The day is full of time, experiences to be had, expectations to be fulfilled. It won´t matter if you are looking at the day with a positive or negative attitude, maybe you are even indifferent, moving through it with nonchalance. But it is clear that this day, just like every other day, will be filled with something. So, you turn over, looking for something to hold onto. A glass of water.

Hold onto it.

You start your day with a routine. It gives you comfort, maybe it is something so familiar that you don’t even realize you are doing it anymore. I hope you are finding your rhythm. If you really think about it, every day has its beat. But did you ever get the feeling of having a jazzy day? I wonder what that might be like, to just improvise. Is it even possible to act instictively, making up your melody on the spot or will you play jazz according to pre-arranged music sheets? Is it even worse to feel like having a jazzy day only to end up playing jazz that is predetermined? I can´t tell you, but if you ever find out, tell me. And if it is indeed improvisation,…

… hold onto it.

The day goes by and you have followed the beat, maybe it changed in between. You had conversations, arguments, tasks. You held onto glasses, coffee cups, a wine glass. And now we are here. The beat, it is given to you. Someone decided for you, cutting the inextricable link between the day, you, and the beat. Slicing it with more than 110 decibels against your eardrum. Who is really in control here? Is it your muscles, the DJ? Is it your feeling of having to move in a certain way? I know it can be confusing, but I´ll be here. You might be looking for the glass in all this controlled chaos that everyone voluntarily joined. Cut through the fog, find me. I am just as much loosing balance as you are. Come find me and…

Hold onto it.

Who told him that it’s cool going to a bar alone? To a club? To anywhere? Maybe it’s literature with its undeniably attractive, mystique, dark and complex characters. Maybe it’s just his feeling. Maybe it’s not weird at all. Who knows.

He dusts off his leather jacket and hangs it onto the hook beneath the bar. Ignored by the barmaid in the Adidas tracksuit who has been working there forever. The are bonded. Bonded by the story of this place. Both seek recognition. Her, by being the master of the beer and alcoholic beverages. The one thing that people crave. Why else would they come here if it weren’t for the bitter taste of alcohol, pacifier of peoples.

He is here because it seems to look cool. Why it does, if it does, he will never know. Maybe it depends on the spectator.

People going in and out, what’s steady in this booze-fuelled spectacle? We didn’t hear from this place just because it hosts the deepest of our desires. We are sitting on it. What if I were not having my barstool? The steady fort from which I tower above you? It might be level, but I am far away. I will be here, on the cliff. The cliff of solitude. Only the arms of the barmaid can reach me.

Am I lonely, you ask? Well, it depends on the spectator.

However, I’ll be here. With my barstool. Cheers all you people down there.

You turn into Stepańska street. I sit down.

Still a little hungover I am sitting in my favorite cafe, surrounded by wooden walls covered in old movie posters. I breathe in the coffee-filled air and immediately begin to cough. My body isn’t ready yet.

You stop at the old Antikvariat and look at the newest old books. I order an espresso.

The last week has passed by very fast and it seemed to have no significant events to make it memorable. I wonder how many of those weeks have already passed. How many of these weeks I am unable to reminisce about are still to come?

You continue walking up the road. I get my espresso.

It’s Sunday and once again the streets seem empty. Well, despite the people heading for brunch or breakfast or lunch or just to have a walk. I seem like one of them, I don’t like it. Weekdays I can sit around and feel good about doing nothing while others are working. But if nobody is working, what’s my role in this whole thing?

You pass the window of the cafe. I look outside.

You are terrifying. My stomach hurts a little while I try to understand what just happened. A little Film sequence was running in my head. Oh how much we could experience. How much we could grow together, see things from a different perspective. How compassion grows and creates the bubble around us. I won’t ever feel cold again.

You passed by. I am looking after you, disappearing.

I now bow my head. I didn’t expect this to be the memorable moment of this week for me to remember. I taste the espresso, it’s bittersweet. I put down the cup. It is beautiful. Deep blue with golden edges. Never before have I seen such a composition between the deep colours of coffee and blue.

You turn around the corner. I drink the rest and pay.

I’ll be back again, for you, my shining deep, my espresso cup.